


and twice on Sundays

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Cordelia (Movie Poster 2020)
Genre: 19th Century, BDSM, Bondage, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dominance, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Hair-pulling, Happy Ending, Happy Sex, Historical Dress, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Loving Marriage, Pegging, Period clothing, Restraints, Strap-Ons, Submission, period-typical bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: Cordelia never knew how different her Sundays would be, after the wedding.
Relationships: Man/Woman
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	and twice on Sundays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



> Thank you to my betas, beatrice_otter and hangingfire! All remaining mistakes and anachronisms are my own. 
> 
> Happy Yuletide skatzaa! I tried to include as many things you requested as possible, I hope you find this to your liking :)

Cordelia knew, when she married James, that many things in her life would change once she was someone’s wife. She had three older sisters and a mother in good health, thank heavens, and everyone had told her that running a household, managing the servants, adjusting to living with a man, all of these would be challenging, if pleasant in their own way. 

She was therefore prepared for the learning curve, the process of getting better at all of those things. 

What she hadn’t been ready for were… Sundays. 

Every Sunday during this, the third year of their marriage, she and James would wake up, eat breakfast, attend church, and return to a house that would remain empty of servants until late evening. James’ family had always been known as generous employers, so no one was much surprised that the newly married couple gave their staff all of Sunday to visit their families and enjoy themselves outside of the house. 

Cordelia and James would wait for the better part of an hour - each in a different part of the house. He would be locked in his study. She preferred to sit in the garden, weather permitting. 

Then they would reconvene, in the drawing room. 

*

The rope was soft, well worn. It predated Cordelia in James’ life, and she’d never asked what its original purpose was. Clearly, it had done its share of work to become so pliable, for the edges to have worn off so well. 

James had taught her how the knots worked, although she’d done her own independent reading. Her family had an extensive library, and she’d looked at some of the more esoteric naval books during the first Christmas after she and James were married.

“Is this quite comfortable?” she asked, as James knelt on the wooden floor of the drawing room in his shirtsleeves. The rope ran around James’ thighs, around his stomach, and she was always concerned that the fit might be too tight and not permit him to breathe properly. 

“It is,” he nodded, already sounding faint. “Thank you, my love.”

She tested the rope by pushing a finger between it and James’ shirt, and, satisfied, continued to slowly wind the rope around his chest and shoulders. 

Finally, the rope wound like strong, powerful vines around his legs, torso and arms. James, in his cream-colored trousers and soft slippers, knelt with his arms in front of him, wrists bound together. 

Aside from that point of constriction, the rest of the rope didn’t bind his limbs, only shaping and emphasizing his movement. 

When it was done Cordelia took one last look at him. His short, slightly wavy blond hair, still styled from the way he wore it to church. The mild flush already forming on his cheeks, just from the act of sitting still for this. His expression, more open than it had been all week, even when they were alone together, but not as open and it would be by the evening. His broad shoulders, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual, the obvious erection his bound wrists couldn’t hide. 

After taking it all in, feeling the excitement it caused in her own body, Cordelia rose to her feet, dusted off her dress, and leaned down for one last kiss. She pressed her lips to James’ forehead, heard the small sigh he allowed himself, and took her seat on the comfortable sofa. 

She reached for the book she knew she was going to read, _The Moonstone_ , recommended to her by a friend during a ball. She always had a book set aside for Sundays. 

She read about seventy pages of it before she was tired of trying to solve the mystery, and decided to do something else. She retrieved one of her sewing projects, a kerchief she was embroidering as a Christmas gift for a friend. 

All the while, James knelt in his place, two paces away from the sofa. He fidgeted occasionally, shifted his weight, bent and straightened his back.

She could hear his breathing settle over time. His knees always protested this treatment, but James resisted the attempts she’d made to change or shorten this routine. When they first began this adventure, James had first told her, slowly and over the course of months, of the sorts of things he dreamed of, the things he’d craved since he was a boy. They had begun their experimentation slowly. A brief attempt here and there, and then one entire Sunday, and then one Sunday out of every few fortnights, and then… where they were now. 

James was so much more content, hopeful, calm, even tender in their moments together now, compared to how he’d been before their wedding. She had always liked James, since their first meeting, when he was still at school and she was visiting her cousins in London with her mother and eldest sister. He had been wonderful even then. She loved the way he laughed, how lighthearted he was, unlike so many gloomy boys she’d met. 

But when she saw this James, on his knees, stripped of his outer layers with rope wound around every one of his limbs, she felt like she was seeing something far more genuine and satisfying. Her love for him only deepened, with every time they did this. He made himself so vulnerable in her presence. He risked so much. 

She hadn’t thought she’d like it at first. She’d thought it would be something she did for James, as a dutiful wife should, to make him happy and comfortable in his own skin. Like making sure the cook always prepared foods that he both liked and were good for him, or making sure his valet had what he needed from the household budget to keep James’ clothes in top shape. 

But instead she’d found it far more pleasurable than she’d ever imagined, in her own selfish way. She had liked James when they were married. But she loved him now. And something about doing this with a man she loved, seeing a man she loved expose himself so fully, make himself raw for her like a slab of meat ready for tenderizing, sent shivers down her spine.

Hours had passed. Cordelia got up and walked over to James, whose chin rested against his chest, neck bent, eyes closed.

After taking a good long look at him, she stepped away from him again to shut the door to the sitting room. For some reason, this was always the point at which she no longer felt comfortable with having this door open, despite the house being empty and silent except for the ticking of the clocks. 

She came back to James, and slid a hand into his hair, carding her fingers through the soft strands, grabbing hold of it, pulling his head back, forcing him to look up at her. 

His face was so open. Like a blue, cloudless sky. 

*

It always took time, rearranging James into a new position. Still bound, he moved slowly and clumsily, his limbs stiff from all that time on his knees. 

Still, he had one task left to perform before the ropes came off. Cordelia was gentle with him, helping him lie on his side, and then on his back. Once, he’d leaned on her too heavily, his body uncoordinated, and her hold had slipped. He'd hit his forehead so hard there was a red bump the next day that they’d had to explain to his aunt and uncle at dinner on Monday. In the moment, James had yowled in pain, and after they’d ascertained he was alright they’d both started laughing. Eventually they’d calmed down and, miraculously, returned to their scheduled activities. 

This time Cordelia helped James resettle himself without incident. Once he was in the correct position, arms resting on his stomach, she stood over him, and knelt slowly, so that her legs framed the sides of his head. She was careful with her skirts, pulling them out of the way so that only his mouth was covered by folds of fabric, nothing north of it. 

She looked into his eyes again, seeing the smile lighting up his features. She caressed the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, even the tops of his ears before sliding her fingers into his hair again, giving him a few slow, fond caresses. 

“You’re very handsome like this, my love,” she said. 

When she lifted herself slightly to find a better position, she heard his voice say, more breathless than normal: “What I am is quite hungry, my darling.”

She smiled to herself and lifted all the layers of skirts out of the way again, gathering some of the fabric in her arms, for fear of suffocating him within a prison of cloth. 

She used her other hand to reach into her drawers, finding the opening between her legs and settling over James’ face so the most sensitive part of her was directly over his mouth. 

When his lips parted, his tongue caressing her, driving into her, she moaned and nearly lost herself enough to let her skirts fall back where they would. She always forgot how heady this felt, not only this particular act, but the location of it, the setting. 

James, on the floor of their drawing room, his hands restrained, feasting on her like manna. He could barely make sounds, but what he managed only increased her arousal further, made her tremble and whimper, biting the hand that wasn’t holding her skirts to avoid alerting anyone who might be passing on the street outside their home. The windows to the drawing room were shuttered, of course, but sound did still travel.

James’ mouth continued its expert assault, and Cordelia felt her pleasure swell, the pressure building up in her belly, pulsing downwards until she was pushing herself against James, grinding against his mouth, driving herself to completion. 

*

It took time to untangle the rope, to let James’ limbs return to themselves and regain their usual grace. The change in position to lying on his back had helped with the stiffness, but still Cordelia took her time with unwinding the ropes, giving James back to himself in stages. 

When he was fully unencumbered and able to move again, he kissed her. They were both on their knees at that point, and James’ hands held her face tightly, like a drowning man holding onto a raft. 

She kissed him back, tasting herself on his tongue. After a minute or so she pushed him away, and gave him a light shove, and then another, until he was pressed against the nearest wall, the wallpaper making his skin look even more flushed than it already was. 

“Turn around,” Cordelia said, and James obeyed, his eyes gleaming. 

She ran her hands over his broad back, and he moaned, faintly, as she pressed against muscles that were sore from being bound. She ran her hands down, over his backside and down the fabric of his breeches, between his legs. 

She could feel his bollocks, his cock. His sharp inhale when she pressed her fingers against sensitive places. 

“Who is lord and master of this?” she whispered in his ear, grabbing his genitals with strong fingers and then rubbing her palm against the fabric. 

“You, my love,” he whispered back, breathless. 

*

They didn’t spend all day in the drawing room. Eventually, they retired to James’ bedroom. Always his, because his valet had been with him since he was a boy, and there wasn’t a thing the man didn’t know already about what sort of items James liked to keep nearby. 

James helped Cordelia out of her clothes, much more awkwardly and slowly than her maid, of course, until she was left only in her shift. She watched James remove his own clothes. He unbuttoned his trousers, pulled off his stockings, and finally pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on the bed. 

While he arranged himself, Cordelia retrieved the necessary items from a locked cupboard in James’ dressing room. 

She laid them out on the bed and pulled off her shift, while James got on his knees beside her. 

He was an expert, now, at tying the wide cotton straps around her thighs and lower stomach, placing the smooth wooden object, its shape only vaguely reminiscent of a cock, in the right position against her pubis, and using its wide base to wrap the cotton straps around it and keep it securely in place. 

When it was done James always took a few seconds to stare at it - to stare at _her_ , wearing it. Her cock was smaller than James’, but wider. More solid and unyielding. 

James always looked up at her in these moments with such awe and adoration. She couldn’t help but bend down, pull his head towards hers and kiss him, until they pulled away, both impatient to make use of Cordelia’s new attachment. 

James rose on his knees, his hands running over her back, her buttocks, fingers tracing the cotton straps. He mouthed at her nipples, and she pressed his head closer, petting his hair, pushing him to suck harder or lick gentler, until finally that too was unsatisfying, and she pushed him away, down. 

James climbed on the bed, already breathless, and positioned himself for her: arse in the air, head cradled in his arms, resting on a large, soft pillow. 

Cordelia took her time, oiling the polished, lacquered wood, until it was glistening. 

She never asked James how he prepared for this, only trusted that he did whatever was necessary in the privacy of his bedroom. Before they came down for breakfast, or perhaps during the night before. 

The first few times she’d worried. He’d been gentle with her, on their wedding night, and she never wanted to do any worse by him. But he’d assured her that he didn’t want or need her help in this particular matter. He would prepare himself for her, and that would be part of their mutual pleasure. 

Cordelia positioned her cock at James’ entrance, and pushed, gently, slowly, feeling the flesh yield and part for her, his body allowing her in. 

She heard him whimpering, a sound that was halfway to a mewl, and she knew it meant she was on the right track. She felt his pale body shudder when the toy was buried all the way inside and her stomach rested against James’ back. 

“Thank you, my love,” she heard him say, tears in his voice, as his sweat mingled with hers. 

She had one arm on his side to steady herself. She reached down with the other to grab hold of his hair, using it as her second point of leverage before she pulled her hips back and then shoved them forward again. 

James let out a howling moan. 

Cordelia pushed her hips forwards and back again, a movement that was a twisted imitation of the way James pleasured her when he used his cock. 

It never took long once he was making these sounds, utterly lost to the sensations of having the polished object inside of him. James moaned against the sheets, gasped and called out God’s name with more passion than he could summon at church. 

His body slid down and down, forcing Cordelia to stop and start. She repositioned herself once James’ hips were pressed against the bed at an awkward angle, his hips tilted upwards and stiff cock pressed against the sheets. 

It took less than a minute of Cordelia redoubling her efforts and James rubbing against the dry fabric until he was sobbing out his release, collapsing on the bed, with Cordelia sweaty and exhausted on top of him. 

*

James seemed dead to the world, breathing heavily with an arm tossed over his face, red and sweaty all over, when Cordelia rose from the bed, naked as she was, and went to the kitchen to retrieve the cold food the cook had left out for them. 

Instead of eating dinner properly like a respectable couple, Cordelia ate a few slices of cheese and roast beef, and then grabbed a few small buns and brought them back with her to the bedroom. She placed them on a small table, next to James, who at least was no longer covering his face, and seemed altogether calmer. 

“Thank you, darling,” he said, with an intensity that would not have been out of place if Cordelia had told him she’d foiled an assassination plot against the Crown.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll recover my strength and see to your…”

Cordelia didn’t wait for him to finish. She laid against him, tangling their legs, holding him close and feeling his strong arms around her. 

“It’s Sunday,” she said, smiling at him. “There’s plenty of time.”


End file.
